Monster
by walutahanga
Summary: Yamcha's keeping secrets.


**Monster**

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**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of it's characters. We wouldn't be skipping over the human characters if I did. This is another Yamcha story. Just a theory that's been rattling around inside my brain for a while. It's set during the time Vegeta was staying at Capsule Corps and Yamcha and Bulma were still dating.

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The dial tone burrs smoothly in Yamcha's ear. He taps his fingers on the kitchen counter; an unrhythmic, discordant sound.

Finally she picks up.

"Hello?" She yawns.

"Bulma, it's me."

"Yamcha." Her voice goes from tired to annoyed in one second flat. "What do you think you're doing? Calling me in the middle of the night! Not that I actually need my beauty sleep, but _some_ of us –"

He interrupts her without apology.

"Can I come over?"

His voice is steady, but something in the way he asks tips her off. Instantly the annoyance is gone, and there's nothing but concern in her questions.

"Yamcha, are you alright?"

"I'm okay. It's just it's –" He realizes his fingers are digging into the counter, scoring holes in the countertop. He instantly lets go, runs his hand over it futiley as if to smooth over the damage. "It's bad tonight."

"Of course you can come over, you idiot. If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, you don't need to ask first."

"Thanks." There is a pathetic note of gratitude in his voice she affects not to notice.

"You can thank me by cooking me breakfast in the morning," she sniffs. "Now get over here."

She hangs up, and her calming voice is gone, replaced by the smooth purr of the dial tone. He hangs up and lets himself quietly out of the apartment. No need to leave a note. Puar has lived with him long enough to be used to nights like these and won't be concerned by his empty bed tomorrow morning.

He flies over to Capsule Corps because it's quicker than driving. Not to mention, if he was cooped up in a small space, he'd probably snap. A restless energy hums inside him, making it impossible to sit still. His joints ache and his skin twitches every now and then, like a nervous animal's.

The cool air rushing against his skin helps some, and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he half-expects to see the moon, round and white and brilliant, bathing the city in it's silver light. Instead the sky is dark and empty. He should know better by now. He was there, all those years ago, when Muten Roshi destroyed the moon. He should stop expecting things to stay the same. It's always been a fault of his.

He slows as he approaches Capsule Corps, and floats down to land on the lawn. The grass is soft and forgiving, sinking slightly under his feet, and he can smell the rich loam.

Too late, he notices another scent.

"What are you doing here, weakling?"

Vegeta moves out of the shadows. Or perhaps the shadows shape themselves about him, making visible what was hidden.

Yamcha's reaction is instant and violant. He wants to slam his fist into the saiyan's face, wants to snarl and establish his dominance in this place where the woman he loves lives. He wants to make Vegeta back down. Better yet, he wants him _gone_.

Another, more sensible, part of him recognizes a power far superior to his own. A wolf might not like it, but he must submit to the hierarchy of a pack. Yamcha clenches his fists in his pockets and answers civilly, if sullenly;

"I'm here to see Bulma."

"This time of night?" The saiyan's voice is mocking.

"Well," Yamcha says, summoning up sarcasm, "she _is_ my girlfriend. And now if you'll excuse me…"

He walks past Vegeta in the direction of Bulma's house.

"I'm curious, weakling." Vegeta's voice follows him. "What are you?"

Yamcha pulls up short. His fists are clenched in his pockets, nails digging into his skin. Vegeta moves closer, circling him like a wolf scenting blood.

"I've been on this planet long enough to know what a human smells like. And you aren't human."

"What you talking about?" Yamcha says. There's an odd, hollow edge to his voice, even as he strains to sound completely normal. "I'm as human as they come."

"Do not think me as idiotic as that insipid mate of yours."

"Don't talk about Bulma that way," Yamcha says hotly. He bites his lip to stop more rash words following it. Why oh why did he have to run into Vegeta on this night of the month? And why did they have to have this conversation _now_? He is already unsettled and restless. Vegeta's presence only exacerbates the effects.

He starts to walk away, only to be brought up short by the saiyan appearing in front of him, moving faster than the eye can follow.

"Dammit, Vegeta. Don't _do_ that."

The saiyan is studying him intently.

"What are you?" He says, and his tone lacks the usual antagonism, carrying instead curiousity. "A sirian? A lupin? They were fine warriors before my kind wiped them out. It's possible one or two made it to earth and managed to whelp a few brats. Which side is it on? Your mother or your father?"

"Neither," Yamcha says through gritted teeth. "Now if you will just let me past –"

He starts to go around the saiyan. A hand closing about his arm jerks him back into place. He closes his eyes, tries to relax the surge of temper that flares up at the contact.

"You don't want to do this," he says. "Not tonight."

"Really? _Now_ I'm curious, weakling. Tell me."

Vegeta's tone of voice makes it an order, and the hand resting on the joint between shoulder and arm makes a subtle threat of compliance.

Yamcha slim thread of control snaps, and he knocks Vegeta's hand away with a snarl. It's an animal sound, brought up from deep inside his chest. A moment later he is standing a few steps away from Vegeta, glaring, feeling that tight ball of control contract within him. _In and out_, in time with the harsh gasp of breath and the hot pump of blood in his veins.

Vegeta looks surprised, as well he might. On a good day, Yamcha can move maybe half that fast. But tonight something is clawing to get out of it's human cage, and the veil between them is thin and diaphamous.

"How did you do that?" Vegeta says slowly. A dangerous look comes into his eyes, and Yamcha senses his ki change. Not growing precisely. It is like he stretches muscles, subtly testing in preperation for battle.

Yamcha knows he's in danger, and not just from Vegeta. The monster is breathing down his neck, longing for the confrontation to turn violent. It's a remarkable power of self-control that stops him from just giving into the urge. It's the right thing, he tells himself. The monster might be able to inflict more damage than Yamcha would, but in a confrontation with Vegeta, it will still come off second-best.

He drops his eyes from Vegeta's challenging glare, turning his face down and away, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller. A moment later he belatedly realizes it's a signal of submission from pack member to another. But apparently saiyans have a similar code. He senses Vegeta's ki receding to normal ranges.

"Well?" The saiyan says. "You haven't answered my question."

"'tsfllmon," Yamcha mutters.

"What?"

Yamcha sighs and speaks up.

"It's a full moon."

"Don't be even more of an idiot than usual. You think I wouldn't notice if there was a full moon?"

"No, I mean there should be." Yamcha gestures helplessly. "If earth still had a moon, it would be full right now. My body remembers the cycle and tries to keep to it."

Yamcha had never accused Vegeta of being an idiot. He was already putting two and two together.

"Your race has a more powerful form," he says slowly. His gaze goes over Yamcha, taking in the sweat beading on his brow, the tighness at the corners of his mouth. "You're trying to ozorou."

"Trying _not_ to, actually," Yamcha corrects him. "And FYI – I'm not a monkey."

"Show me."

Yamcha takes a step back.

"Wha – _no_."

The backhand is unexpected, sending spots dancing in front of his eyes. Vegeta grabs him by the throat and draws him up.

"_Show_ _me_."

Yamcha doesn't have to summon his rage. It's already bubbling up underneath, spilling over the confines of his fragile self-control. He hears the snarl building in his chest, feels the fur rippling across his flesh, feels his inner organs shift and rearrange themselves to accommodate a larger frame.

For a moment, the monster is towering over the saiyan, quivering with the urge to rend and destroy. _No, no, no!_ The human scrabbles for control, and after a struggle, jerks it away from the monster. With a snarl, the monster reluctant retreats back beneath the skin.

When Yamcha opens his eyes, Vegeta's fingers are digging into a human throat, not the thick guard fur of a wolf. Yamcha blinks and winces.

"Oh – ow! _Thanks_ a lot, Vegeta. Do you have any idea how much that stings?!"

Vegeta grunts in amusement and releases him.

"An interesting metamporphosis," he said. "But ultimately useless. I wouldn't even need to ozorou to grind your creature into the dust."

"Oh yeah?" Yamcha rubs his throat resentfully. "Well, lycans happen to be pack animals. Lets see how you go against ten or twelve of us."

Vegeta gives him a truly frightening smile.

"Perhaps we will have occasion to test that," he says. Yamcha is suddenly wary once again. Instead Vegeta says thoughtfully; "Lycans. Is that what your kind call yourselves?"

Yamcha shrugged.

"It's what my mom called us." The others he met, he hadn't gotten along real well with. He'd never got to ask.

"I see." Vegeta is silent for a moment. "Lycan. I will remember. You may go."

It is said dismissively, as a prince to some lowly slave. Yamcha thinks about bowing with a mocking '_your highness_', but as much as his body is torturing him at the moment, he really is rather fond of it. Such as, he likes it intact.

He walks in the direction of Bulma's house.

"Lycan." Vegeta's voice makes him turn back. "Your ki rose during the change. It would give you an edge in battle, and it is clear you do not need the moon to transform. Why have you never used it before now?"

Yamcha froze. He stares at the saiyan for a long moment, trying to come up with an answer to give him. But when he opens his mouth to answer, what comes out instead is;

"Don't tell the others. Please. "

Vegeta studies him. His mouth twists in contempt and he turns away.

"The matter is of utmost irrelivance to me," he says. "Go see your pretty mate, weakling."

Yamcha doesn't know whether to be relieved or not. Vegeta didn't precisely say he'd keep Yamcha's secret, but he didn't say he wouldn't either, and he's never passed up an opportunity to torture Yamcha before.

But something had happened there, something changed with Vegeta's last question and Yamcha's answer. Before then, the look in Vegeta's face had been almost… respect? Yamcha quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Vegeta had been moderately interested in a species he'd never seen before. That was all.

Yamcha lets himself quietly into the house and pads up the stairs. Bulma is awake, turning over as he enters the room.

"Are you alright?" She asks softly. "I heard you and Vegeta shouting."

"Just Vegeta being Vegeta," Yamcha says. He takes off his shirt and shoes, and slips into bed beside her. She cuddles up close, and something inside him relaxes. Her scent is familiar and soothing, lulling the monster inside him.

He kisses her shoulder, brushing her smooth skin with his lips. She is beautiful and pale and perfect. Every time he makes love to her, he is filled with wonder that she would deign to let something like him touch her. Not a day goes by that he isn't desperately grateful for her, and baffled as to how he got her in the first place.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers.

"Play with swords all day, I expect," she says. Her hand finds his in the dark and she squeezes his fingers reassuringly. "Now go to sleep."

As Yamcha closes his eyes, everything is right in the world. He knows that everything will be fine, so long as he has Bulma.


End file.
